Sure Bet (Out of Left Field #1)

9. Liam

Chapter 9

Liam

A s if learning I doomed Brooke’s relationship wasn’t enough, two days later, I blinded my sister.

Ruining lives left and right.

“Oh, my god!” Shana covered her eyes and screeched. “How tight are those shorts? I’ll bleach my eyeballs if I can see the outline of your penis, Liam. I swear I will.”

Leave it to my dramatic sister to take things too far.

I sighed and continued stretching my quad. “They’re compression shorts, not crotchless panties.”

She kicked off her shoes and closed the door behind her. “This is an indecent welcome home. The living room is a public space, and I can’t handle this trauma after getting pissed on three times today at work.”

Presumably she referred to the vet clinic, but I refused to clarify.

“I save my crotchless panties for special occasions, but noted.”

She perked up and strolled into the living room. “Like birthday parties?” The start of one of Shana’s delighted grins often ended in trouble.

“Do what you want. You’re the one driving this thing.” Right off a cliff. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll clear my busy schedule.”

I switched legs and groaned. A glutton for punishment, I’d joined Brenden on another run. Physically strenuous, but I preferred focusing on the aches and pains of my body than whatever the fuck rattled on in my head recently.

Acquiescing to my sister might prove disastrous, but she’d hounded me for days about our birthday.

“What I want is to have a birthday party with the three of us. We’re all together! The last time we were together for a birthday…” she trailed off, and the room went quiet enough to hear the traffic on the street below.

The last time we were together for a birthday, I spent the entire night wishing I was alone in Boston instead of toasting another orbit around the sun like it mattered.

The last time we were together for a birthday, I smiled and laughed like we hadn’t just buried our mother. I would have missed the funeral if Brenden hadn’t dragged me on an airplane home like a human carry-on.

The last time we were together for a birthday, the fog of depression clouded my life, and I didn’t think it would ever clear. That night, I counted the number of times I pinched my thigh through the pocket of my slacks instead of telling people to fuck off and leave me alone.

Fifty-three.

My sister had wanted a break from her grief. I hadn’t faulted her for it, nor did I stand in her way, but I flew back to Boston and swore I wouldn’t return to Seattle unless I had no other choice.

Shana tossed her purse onto the couch, the contents jangling inside. She hugged her waist and stared at the wall. “It made Mom happy that we grew up close like that.”

I headed to the kitchen to grab some water, snickering. “I wouldn’t claim Brooke and I grew up being close.”

Shana followed, crowding me in the confined space. She stretched her arms to each side of the counter to block me in.

My sister had the same amber eyes as our mother’s and the same flaxen hair. I was the spitting image of our father, at least in the pictures I’d seen, but my twin and I shared a propensity for mischief. I recognized the twitch in the corners of her mouth and the gleam in her eye.

I was trapped.

“No? You and Brooke didn’t grow up close? Then what’s with this energy between the two of you? Hmm?”

Tension hung in the air, and my sister’s pointed glare thickened the discomfort. She would carry Brooke’s secrets to the grave, but I doubted she would hold mine as loyally. I would give her nothing. I pressed my lips tighter.

I refused to admit I goaded and taunted Brooke because she always got the better of me, drove me fucking crazy, and I couldn’t let it go—I couldn’t stop pushing.

She made me go stupid. The history of our rivalry mixing with my libido yet again got the better of me. My obsession got the better of me. There was no other word to describe the weight of carrying around the sting of humiliation with Brooke’s disdain years ago. It wasn’t the laughter or taunts from my friends, the shit I got for years about that fucking party. It was the cruel callousness of her claims, even when we both knew she was lying. She wanted me and that embarrassed her. My desire to kiss her didn’t shame me, but her reaction to the mere thought of it did.

And fuck, I couldn’t let it go. I should. I needed to. It’s not like I twiddled my thumbs in Boston and fixated on it, but being in Seattle, in her presence... It was like being thrown back in time. I became the same affronted asshole, kicking out with his hurt feelings because it was the only way to get a reaction.

No wonder she wanted me out of the condo. Shit. Maybe I wanted myself out of the condo.

It was foolish, immature, and pathetic. I didn’t want to be a total asshole. Just because I taunted her didn’t mean I had to pursue it. I should just leave now. Save face. But she already hated me. I mean, the damage had been done, so...

No, I didn’t want to. But maybe…

“What is wrong with the male brain?” my sister dared to ask. “Especially yours? Why can’t you just court her like a normal idiot? You have to be an extra fancy idiot?”

“Court who?” I’d sooner jump out the kitchen window than answer her. Shit. The frame was painted shut, but I could smash the glass—it was a single pane.

A key in the lock jolted us out of an uncomfortable standoff. Brooke pushed through the door a moment later, wobbling inside with an oversized box.

“Hey!” Shana greeted, spinning around and freeing me from her clutches. “How was work?”

I brushed past my sister, but I didn’t miss her whisper in my wake. “I’m here for it, Liam.”

A crash and muttered profanity interrupted before I could turn to question what the fuck she meant.

“Bastard!” Brooke’s crimson face twisted in frustration. A light sheen of sweat coated her forehead as she used her body to pin the box against the wall beside the door and hold it. “Son of a fucking asshole.”

Shana shoved me forward. “She’s calling you.”

Brooke snorted and cursed my sister’s name when she nearly lost her grip on the box. I hurried to help, taking over and carrying it to the table.

“It’s the awkward size,” Brooke explained, wiping her face and tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing questionable about my upper body strength.”

An unexpected laugh bubbled from my lips. Brooke blushed, dropping her eyes.

She’d mostly avoided me for the last couple of days, and it kind of made me feel like shit after the mess I stirred up in her life.

I contributed to her breakup, and I probably should have acknowledged that instead of provoking her, flirting and teasing, and insisting she wanted to kiss me. But she already resented me, and Brooke would accuse me of destroying her relationship on purpose—armed with a statistical analysis of the improbability of crossing paths and unknowingly having a conversation with her boyfriend.

To be fair, it wasn’t actually a conversation. It was a rant—a drunken, stupid rant sprouting from a drunken, stupid moment, seeded by unresolved emotional issues best addressed in therapy, not a pub.

Ever since that night, I had felt guilty, but not because she got dumped. Brooke deserved better than an ambivalent boyfriend, and I’d done her a favor. Not that she would see it that way, but I didn’t plan on her seeing it at all. It would be a non-issue if I kept my mouth shut—for once.

I felt guilty because nothing stood in my way of getting that kiss, and I was delighted as fuck about it.

Determination brewed within me. It’d been a long time since I set my eye on a goal and tried . Putting in effort felt pointless when you didn’t care about the outcome. But for better or worse, I cared about this one. I wanted that kiss, and I wanted Brooke to admit that she wanted that kiss, too.

The three of us gathered around the table, staring at the box.

“What’s inside?” I lifted the lid to spy, but Brooke slapped my hand away.

“Just everything important in my life, so keep your hands off her. She’s not to be messed with.”

I rubbed the abused skin on my knuckles. Brooke wore a dozen rings. “Is it a sex doll? In that case, no promises.”

Two minutes in close proximity and the urge to crawl under her skin nearly overpowered me.

It couldn’t be helped, like when my mom told me to ignore the itch beneath the plaster cast on my arm when I broke my wrist riding my bike in second grade. If I ignored it, it would go away, she’d claimed.

But it didn’t, and the only solution was shoving a fork in there to ease the discomfort.

And it worked!

Temporarily, anyway. Then a new itch popped up, but there was no shortage of forks in our house. The angry, irritated scratches on my skin gave me away when the doctor cut off the cast. I still have a scar at the base of my wrist from scratching too hard.

“It’s her baby!” Shana bounced enthusiastically. “Esperanza, but I call her Zaza for short.”

Brooke ducked her head, avoiding my questioning stare. “Esperanza is a robot, my robot, and because of her, I’m going to win a grant to fund a team to build more Zazas.” Her eyes lit up as she circled the table, checking the box for damage. “With more great minds come more great ideas, and we’re going to build even better Zazas.”

Excitement laced her voice, any shyness disappeared, and her shoulders pulled back as she stood taller.

Shana shushed Brooke, cupping the box as if it had ears. “Impossible to be better than Zaza.”

Satisfied with her inspection, Brooke set down her satchel and tossed her jacket over the back of the chair. “Zaza is a dream, but her hydraulics are cantankerous, and I need to lubricate her this weekend. Treat her real sweet and hope she gives me what I want.”

I sputtered a laugh, clapping a hand to my chest.

She proudly patted the box. “Zaza can save lives. She will save lives. She’s designed to help locate people in emergency situations and assist rescuers. The technology is more sophisticated than twenty years ago. There’s so much more hope.”

Twenty years ago, Brooke’s dad died when his office building partially collapsed because of a catastrophic structural failure. Debris and concrete trapped him and a group of others beneath inaccessible rubble.

My heart sank, but Brooke’s eyes danced with fervor, and her gestures were animated. This wasn’t just work for her, this was passion. It was like she had ignited a fire, radiating a captivating energy with her conviction.

“Esperanza means ‘hope’ in Spanish. Zaza will live up to her name, and I’ll get her there.” She bit her lip and smiled. “Nothing will stop me.”

I’d never seen Brooke stand so confident or self-assured. Her ambition lit a spark in my chest.

If you ignore it, it will go away.

But I didn’t want to, and I didn’t care how many scars it left behind if it meant scratching that itch.

When Shana left for a date two hours later, and Brooke disappeared into her room to lube up a robot, I resolved to Get Shit Done.

“Shit” being a college admission essay. And it was shit.

Tell us more about yourself and why you feel the University of Washington is the right fit for your academic future!

Nope. But maybe Brenden was free to hit the batting cage this evening.

Brenden: Sorry. Karen wants to go furniture shopping. We need a chaise. I think you sit on it. Batting cage rain check?

Me: Has Karen turned you into a middle-aged woman, too?

Guess I hadn’t tired of being an asshole. My thumb hovered over the send button for a moment before I deleted the message and tried again.

Me: Okay.

I dropped the phone on the table and puffed a long exhale as I faced off with a white screen and a blinking cursor.

With no best friend escape plan, it was me and the essay. Nothing to distract or pull my attention away. I had no other friends in Seattle and little motivation to make some.

My fingers rested on the keyboard, unmoving. I stared at the question, not blinking until my eyes burned. I slammed the laptop closed.

At the same time, Brooke’s bedroom door nearly tore off the hinges when she blew out like a tornado. Her lips pinched in a tight line of determination, and her eyes locked on me like a target.

I held up my hands to defend myself from the wild woman storming into the kitchen. “Tough luck if you’re out of lube. You can’t have mine.”

Brooke had changed into a ratty pair of joggers and a loose T-shirt that fell down her left shoulder. My gaze landed on the soft pocket between her neck and shoulder, a spot made for sucking and nibbling. I licked my lips and glanced away.

I didn’t hate her confident stride to confront me.

“Rules.” She crossed her arms and stood at the opposite end of the table. “We need rules.”

“Rules?”

She gestured between us. “Yes, rules for… this. Living together, I mean. I told you to do your worst, but I didn’t mean it literally. That needs to be stated, and we should establish rules.”

Her hand hadn’t stopped waving between us. I chewed on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Leave it to Brooke to get caught up in the idea of creating rules. Like we should engage in polite warfare.

Despite how much I ached to tease her about it, I also liked that about her. Brooke didn’t accept chaos as a given in life, and when faced with it, she took action. Meanwhile, I spent hours paralyzed, unable to start a simple task.

I sighed. “Fine. Tell me about your rules.”

She remained standing, and suddenly that self-assurance was gone, like maybe she hadn’t considered her next steps. Shit, was this Brooke… being impulsive?

Oh, I think I enjoyed this look even more.

“Right. Okay.” She puffed her cheeks. “Okay. You can’t come into my bedroom or go through my things without my permission.”

Did she think I’d tiptoe into her bedroom one night and steal her underwear?

Absurd. I’d tiptoe into her bedroom and plant a pair of mine beneath her pillow, “discover” them, and then accuse her of being a pervert.

I begrudgingly accepted her terms. “Fine.”

So much for fun.

“Yeah. Okay, good.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “That’s all I have.”

“Easy enough.”

Brooke pulled out a chair at the table, took a seat, and surprised me by holding my gaze instead of darting her eyes away. “And you? Do you have any rules?”

I slowly shook my head, unable to look away when I had her attention. “You’re more than welcome to come into my bedroom, Brooke.”

A pretty pink blush bloomed over her cheeks. “This is so stupid. You know that, don’t you? Whatever you’re trying to prove.”

What was I trying to prove? That I was the kind of guy she had wanted all those years ago? Would that make my ego feel better about her public rejection? Would that make my heart feel better?

I smiled and leaned closer. Her eyes drifted to my mouth as I softly challenged, “So call it off. Tell me to kiss you and be done with it now.”

A brazen invitation—and a risk. I clung to a smile and a silent prayer that she wouldn’t call my bluff before I even got started. Brooke loved her technicalities. She may very well point at her cheek, tell me to pucker up, and shut this down.

“Call it off yourself.” Her voice was hardly a whisper, but I caught the shake of it. “I have nothing to worry about.”

Interesting.

I relaxed in my chair and hummed. “No? Just wait until you see my sprawling orchard.”

Brooke burst into a full-throated laugh. Her hands pulled into her chest as she dropped her head back and cackled.

I was wrong. It was this—this was her best look, and I’d been responsible for it.

An unrestrained grin spread over my face. “Have you seen me atop a steed? One moment, allow me the chance to grab my breeches from the closet. My globes are the roundest. Groundskeeper Murphy might have fumed at Penelope’s state of disarray, but he’d have wept with how dashing I look in fitted pantaloons.”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Brooke practically hyperventilated. “You—you—” She quieted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Wait a minute…”

Shit.

Her eyes widened as she put it together. Fuck me for underestimating her observation skills and the deathtrap of her memory, but mostly? For underestimating my stupidity.

“I didn’t get to Penelope’s return to the estate.” Her hands flew over her mouth as she murmured, “Oh. My. God.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, increasingly uncomfortable with every passing second between us. “Um.”

Her wild smile shone so brightly that, for a moment, I didn’t care that it was at the expense of my dignity. “You read the book.”

And just because I had to fight Brooke on everything, I corrected her. “ No. ” I cleared my throat, rising from my seat and scurrying to my room to die in peace. “I’m reading the book.”

Her laughter followed me down the hall. She slapped her palm on the kitchen table. The sound echoed in the trail of her utter delight.

I hurried into my room, pausing to poke my head out and amend an earlier statement. “Changed my mind. I have one rule. No spoilers!”

I slammed my door as Brooke howled even louder.

Chest heaving and a laugh rumbling from my lips, I tried to shake the growing discomfort in my gut—not the guilt, not the humiliation, not even the pathetic spite that left me clinging to a ten-year rejection.

As soon as Brooke joined me at the table, I hadn’t—not once, not for a second—felt suffocated by the wreck of my life, and Brooke hadn’t brought it up.

I knew then what I was trying to prove, and it was stupid, so damn stupid, to imagine that maybe I could earn a kiss from a girl like Brooke.

Not because I’d forced some bet, but because I’d proved I deserved it.

It wasn’t about the past at all. Maybe it was about being the kind of man she’d want now.

The fucking mess I was.